Apocalypse
by Wakka02
Summary: The ascension of the Scourge was inevitable as the Lich King's imprisonment was over, but one unexpected foe enters the fray. Thus began the final conflict between the Scourge and the Sentinel, Azeroth's last hope. Thus began the Defense of the Ancients.
1. Prologue

**Apocalypse**

**Prologue**

The slow chink of footsteps were the only sound in the icy cavern. Faint tremors shook the dark depths of the mountain, and a frigid wind blew around the man, buffeting him and threatening to throw him off the stairwell into the icy depths below, but he paid it no heed. His thoughts were filled with voices, ghastly echoes from his past, reaching out to him from beyond the grave. Arthas climbed on, oblivious of his surroundings, hearing only the haunting of his past, growing louder and louder as he neared the stairwell's peak.

_You are not my king yet boy. And neither would I have obeyed that command even if you were!_

_Can this business, and lead your men home!_

_As your future king, I order you to purge this city!_

Arthas walked on, lost in his reverie, pulled on by his Master's voice and will. A mocking ghost of a smile played across his lips as he climbed. How foolish he had once been. How foolish they had all been. King he was and King he would always be, ruling over a land he had once yearned to protect. Now he would protect it, but its citizens would not be those who numbered amongst the living.

_Have you lost your mind, Arthas?_

_You lied to your men and betrayed the mercenaries who fought for you! What's happened to you, Arthas?_

Yes, he had been ruthless. And he would go on being so, now, as King, Champion of the Lich King. And as he neared the frosted cap of the mountain, another voice from long ago barged into his thoughts.

_...You will find nothing but cold, and death, in the icy mountains of Northrend..._

He could not remember where that voice came from, nor where he had heard it. But all other thoughts were driven from his mind, as he finally came to a stop in front of the icy prison that was his Master's entombment. Arthas looked up at the physical manifestation of his Master in awe. He was no more than several chunks of armor encased within a wall of ice, yet the power emanating from his soul was overwhelming. The voice of the Lich King filled his mind, echoing through his thoughts and soul.

_Return... the blade... Complete... the circle... Free me... from this prison.._

Arthas hesitated, then hefted the sword in his hands. Wielding the weapon in two hands, he took two great steps and swung Frostmourne's rune-engraved blade in a huge overhead arc. The tip of the sword struck the Frozen Throne, a blow that should not even have marred the surface of the ice, yet the Lich King's icy prison shattered. Shards of ice flew in every direction, falling downwards towards the base of the mountain, and the pieces of armor that had made up the Lich King's physical form scattered in all directions. The helmet rolled and bounced, landing against the floor with metallic chinks, finally stopping at Arthas' feet.

The Death Knight stared down at the iron headgear, momentarily at a loss as to what to do. Was his Master extinguished, by his own hand, no less? Had he done all, gone through everything, for naught? After a moment, he stooped, and lifted the helmet with gauntleted hands. Such a tiny, minuscule piece of metal, yet it held all that was the Lich King and all his power. The moment his hands touched the metal, he knew what he had to do. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he lifted the Lich King's helmet and placed it on his head. He could feel power coursing through him, the power of his Master, the will of the master joining the will of the servant. Arthas opened his eyes, and instead of the blue eyes a bright light flared forth.

The Lich King looked through his Champion's eyes.

_Now_ we... _**are one!**_

--

Arthas made his way slowly to the point where the Frozen Throne had once stood. Within it stood a Throne of ice, no less regal than any royal seat that Arthas had seen in his time as a prince of the living. He sat down, the runeblade Frostmourne by his side, savoring his victory in salvaging his Master and sending the demon Illidan to the depths of hell. Soon, with the power of the Lich King by his side, he would once again take control of all the undead in the land, and launch an assault against those that still lived. Young prince Kael'thas would have to pay for his insolence, and the snake-woman, Vashj, would die as well. Sylvanas the traitor would suffer a fate much worse than when he had turned her into a banshee -

- and suddenly, Arthas felt a sudden, mental shove, and he was vaulted forward off his throne, the helmet falling - no, forced off his head in the process. Arthas nearly tumbled off the icy glacier, but managed to keep his balance. Scrambling to his feet, he whirled around to face whatever it was that had had the audacity to threaten the Lord of the Scourge, but immediately raised his hands with a cry to shield his eyes as a blinding, white light flared in front of him, encasing the Throne. When the light receded, Arthas lowered his arms and opened his eyes to a horrific sight.

The scattered pieces of the Lich King's armor were floating above the seat, right where they had been before he had shattered the throne. The light which had blinded him previously was coalescing around the pieces of armour, forming - Arthas' eyes widened - once again, the Frozen Throne, right before the Death Knight's eyes.

"What trickery is this?" Arthas strode forward angrily, laying a hand upon the icy confinements of his Lord. He could not believe it. What could have had the power to confine his Master, to throw him into the frozen depths of his prison once again? He could feel the outrage and bewilderment of the Lich King, inside the Frozen Throne once more. Then a voice confronted the two in their cavern.

_You are dangerous. You seek to destroy this land. And with your power wholly returned to you, it is likely that you will succeed. By the Five, I will not allow it!_

"What the - Who are you?"

_Your Lord knows. Don't you, Lich King?_

_This.. cannot be! Impossible! How do you possess this power?_

You need not know, Lord of the Undead. All you need to know is that my champions even now march on to destroy you. It is a pity that your beloved.. champion wasn't locked in with you. Arthas sensed that the presence that was there before was fading, and finally it was gone.

"My liege! Who was that? What other being could have done this outrage?"

_Arthas... Rally our forces. March onto the ancient land of Kalimdor. It seems that our battle.. is far from over._

"But who-"

_Silence! You will do as I command. The Great Spirit of the World Tree, Yggdrasil has entered the fray, and I will only be freed from this prison after she is destroyed!_

--

A/N: I've been wanting and wanting to start a DotA fanfiction since AGES ago, but I've never really been able to come up with a coherent plot for it. After all, DotA is only about destroying the World Tree or the Frozen Throne, how do you put a story to that? But then I played through the campaign mode in Warcraft III one more time and then I finally hit upon the answer. So now I finally have this story underway. Whoohoo!

Okay, maybe from this prologue you can't really tell that this is going to be a DotA fanfiction, but trust me it is, or rather will be. It has the potential to stretch for quite a few chapters, so I'll update whenever I can. My schedule is pretty busy now, so I'll probably only be able to do so on weekends, and don't blame me if I don't update for a few weeks at a stretch yeah.

Just in case you guys haven't realized it, yes, I did use the Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne's ending cinematic for the front half of this prologue. I described it to the best I could, but if you guys think it can be improved upon, feel free to review yeah. And here's the disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft III. I own a CD of it though.


	2. Turncoat

**Apocalypse**

**Chapter One: Turncoat**

Arthas was infuriated. Just a mere few hours ago, he and his Lord had been steps away from dominion over the whole of Azeroth. He would have had armies of the undead at his beck and call; no force existed that could have opposed the might of the Scourge. The Night Elves were of no threat; with the demigod Cenarius dead, slain at the hands of the orcs, they would have posed no threat to his forces. The last remnants of humanity were scattered and broken; it would have been easy to trod them into the ground like the worthless fools they all were. Not even the wretched naga would have stood up to him. And yet, all of that had been snatched away once more, with the Lich King and much of his power once again encased within the Frozen Throne.

Arthas was infuriated, outraged. But at the same time, he knew a moment of awe for his would-be adversary. To be able to imprison the Lich King, no less, meant an immense power. He had known of the World Tree; that it had its own sentient thoughts and powers was a possibility that had not occured to him. He knew little to nothing of the Yggdrassil; it was this that kept Arthas constantly on a nervous edge.

_Fear not..._

The Death Knight paused. He glanced at the Frozen Throne, then closed his eyes and reached out mentally for his master.

_The World Tree's power is an oversight I made... I had not thought it to hold this much power in its roots. The Aspects had thought well, when they had it planted as the protector of the World. But fear not, my champion. Her power is significant, but she has used up much of it in throwing me back into this icy cage. She is weakened, and would not recover for many days hence. Now would be the best time to strike.  
_  
"Then my Lord, we will strike while the iron is hot! I will gather the Scourge, and march unto Kalimdor with all haste! that insolent plant will rue the day that it ever crossed paths with the Scourge!" Arthas' reply was hot and immediate. He turned and made to stride out of the cavern, prepared to call his warriors to battle. The Scourge would march in the hour, bringing death and decay into the ancient lands of the Night Elves, and none would stand in their path.

_Do not be hasty, Arthas! As the Scourge is now, we cannot hope to defeat the World Tree's forces!  
_  
His footsteps halted, the white-haired Knight of Death turned around and faced his Master once again. "Forces? What forces can possibly stand in our way, Master? Our ranks are bolstered with every soldier that falls in battle, our armies stronger with each corpse added to the battlefield. Worry not, for the Scourge will prevail over them!"

_Perhaps. But if they were to call upon the ancient spirits of Kalimdor to aid them, then what you say would not hold true. We cannot raise the bodies of trees, Arthas, nor can we call the deadened spirits of their land to aid us against their allies. And I sense.. other entities, matching at least your power and strength. Should we launch an invasion now, the Scourge would fall, and all we have strived for will be undone.  
_  
"Then what must we do, Master?"

_There is a need for us to seek out other champions. Heroes of considerable power and skill, to match the heroes that the World Tree commands. I can sense four of them now, by the World Tree's side. We must seek out four others for our cause, to contend with the Yggdrasil's champions and ensure our victory. You will recall the Lich Kel'Thuzad from the lands of Dalaran, and the Nerubian Lord, Anub'arak will serve as well.  
_  
"As you command, my liege. But what about the other two heroes that you speak of?"

_I already have two such beings in mind.. First, you will travel to the lands of Dalaran, where you will join with Kel'Thuzad. I will give you further instructions once you reach the shore. I will send you there. Also send me the Nerubian Lord... I have need of him. He will have another task, to unveil the fifth champion of the Scourge. Make haste, Arthas. Even now the Yggdrassil's forces march upon us. Are you ready?  
_  
"I will always be ready, my liege."

Arthas strode to his death mount and mounted the horse. A glowing green nimbus began to surround both horse and rider, and within seconds the Death Knight was gone.

--

Arthas materialized in Dalaran, right outside the capital city. Undead ghouls manned the city gates, and banshees floated above the keep walls, on ready watch for intruders. As the Death Knight's form began to become apparent, the various undead warriors started to give cries of alarm and surprise. Arthas looked out over the skeletal forms of his soldiers, and urged his mount towards the city gates.

"Open the gates! I have need to speak with Kel'Thuzad." His command was brisk, crisp, and he fully expected the gates to shudder open at his word. Therefore, his shock was apparent on his features as the two ghouls in front of the gates lunged at him, jaws wide open and claws extended for the kill. With a curse, Arthas unsheathed Frostmourne.

"What is the meaning of this? I am your king! I order you to stand down and open the gates!"

"It doesn't matter, Arthas. You are no king here. In the Plaguelands, I rule supreme, and you are nothing." An otherworldly voice echoed from above the city gates. Arthas did not shift his attention from the ghouls engaging him, nor did he need to; he knew that voice. Snarling, he raised his blade and thrust it into the helm of the first ghoul which reached him. splitting its head from forehead to jaw. The ghoul shuddered, then lay limp, hanging onto the blade. Arthas raised a boot and kicked it off, sending the limp carcass flying into the second approaching ghoul, which was knocked back by the impact. It landed several feet away, where it struggled to shift the heavy remains of its companion. The knight wasted no time in urging his mount forward and driving his sword into the second ghoul, then pulling it free. Both foes vanquished, he raised his head and looked at she who had usurped his kingdom.

Red eyes glared down at Arthas, eyes belonging to a woman with blue skin. She was clothed in Night Elf ranger garb, but her clothes had long since turned brown since the days that it had been green and bright. In her hand she carried a dark bow, one which emanated death and terror. A distinct black aura enveloped the woman, and Arthas could smell the reek of the undead carrying from her body.

"You are not welcome here, Arthas. I'd send you on your way, but there are still debts that you owe me. And now that you're back, the Forsaken shall claim its revenge!" Black lips moved, but her voice did not seem to come from her; in fact, it seemed as if the voice came from somewhere behind Arthas. He resisted his impulse to whirl around and search for the voice, for he knew that if he turned around now, he would more than likely see another paralyzing arrow sticking out from his back. Instead, he kept his eyes on the woman he had killed and raised..

"You will not keep me from my kingdom, Sylvanas. You don't deserve to even stand there, with the life the Lich King gave you, traitor!" The words hissed from Arthas mouth. Sylvanas laughed, an unholy sound that would have chilled any man to the bone.

"Traitor? I never wanted this.. _life_. I never pledged allegiance to the Lich King. You are the traitor here, Arthas. The traitor to all humanity, the harbinger of this destruction that you see before you now! You deserve nothing more than the pits of hell, and I will be only too glad to send you there. Attack, my sisters! Bring the traitor king to me!" Sylvanas raised her own bow, training an arrow at the knight before her. As one, the banshees rushed at Arthas, their cries filling the air. Swearing, Arthas raised Frostmourne and slashed at Sylvanas' arrow, then spun his mount around and fled from the city before she could get a second good aim at him. He could hear the banshees racing after him in pursuit, and he knew that they would catch up with him sooner or later. He could not be possessed, but with their numbers it was likely that he could be mortally injured or worse, captured by the screaming horrors.

Just as Arthas was about to turn and face his impeding doom, he sensed a familiar presence coming from the trees off to his right. A moment later, his salvation burst from the thick vegetation - Kel'Thuzad and his necromancers, backed up by dozens of skeletal warriors.

"Return to your mistress, fiends! Begone!" The outraged shout of the lich was a welcome sound to Arthas' ears. The skeletons charged, while his necromancers hung back and cast spell after spell at the banshees. Two of the floating monstrosities fell before they faltered, and it took the death of only one more banshee before the ghosts turned and fled, screaming curses as they went. Arthas rode up to his faithful vassal.

"Kel'Thuzad! Your timing couldn't have been better. You have my thanks."

"The Lich King told me that you would be arriving, my liege. The traitor Sylvanas drove us out of our capital city and claimed it as hers, renaming these lands as the Plaguelands. They are no longer part of the Scourge, my lord, but call themselves as the Forsaken. I knew you would require my assistance, and came as fast as I could." The Lich's tone was respectful, as was proper before his King.

"Sylvanas has much to answer for, and I will personally ensure that she does.. in the future. For now, lich, we have a much more pressing task. We will communicate with the Lich King and ask as to the whereabouts of the hero we speak of. I trust the Lich King has told you of this?"

"Yes.. however, my lord, the Lich King has already told me of whom he has in mind."

"So. You know of this entity? Who has the Lich King chosen to serve?"

"It will not be easy to convince him, my liege. But if done correctly, he will prove to be an invaluable ally..."

--

Sylvanas strode through her city with her usual entourage at her heels. She made her way to her keep, where she intended to ponder over her next course of action. She would hunt down Arthas the Betrayer, but plans would have to be made. By first light the next day, her warriors would be out combing the forests for the wretched monster.

The dreadlord behind her walked in silence. His claws were surrounded by an aura of darkness, and he made barely a sound as he moved through the ciy. A creature born of night, the Nathrezim were best suited to the hours of darkness, and Balnazzar's time as a subordinate to Sylvanas had trained him to walk in the darkness silently and unnoticed. He found himself more at ease in the darkness, as if the darkness was an unholy blessing which strengthed his powers.

Balnazzar shadowed his current mistress, looking at her from behind. So small, so fragile-looking, yet she had driven the Scourge from their own capital city and had nearly managed to kill Arthas, the Lich King's chosen, twice. That she had done all of this and survived thus far was a remarkable feat in itself, and Balnazzar knew that it would not be wise to cross the lady moving in front of him. Yet, while he respected Sylvanas, he knew a considerable amount of hate for her as well, and also a healthy dose of fear. When she no longer found the dreadlord necessary, he knew that she would not hesitate to kill him.

Balnazzar detached himself from the banshees and ghouls following their mistress, and made his way to a secluded area of the city unnoticed, using the familiar darkness as a cover. There, he pondered his options. He could either stay and make himself as useful as he could be, revolt against the mistress or attempt escape from the city. The second option was absurd, unthinkable; he would probably not be able to even kill the woman before she or her banshees destroyed him. The first option was possible, but it demeaned him; after all, he was part of the Nathrezim, the Burning Legion's elites. And once he ceased being useful..

That left the dreadlord with no other choice, but to leave the city and make his way. It could be easily accomplished, leaving the city proper. But after that, where would he go? There were no more portals leading back to the Legion's lands, and he lacked the power to teleport himself through such great distances, between time and space. Balnazzar was at a loss.

_Come to me..._

Balnazzar paused. He had just heard.. Could it be? Ceasing all movement, he listened intently.

"You heard the voice of the Lich King, dreadlord. What does he say to you now?" A voice off to his left startled and jolted the Nathrezim. He turned his head in that direction and saw the form of an undead horse with a rider on it silhoutted in the darkness.

"Arthas! How did you get in here?" Falling into a battle stance, Balnazzar prepared to defend himself.

"At ease, dreadlord. I do not come to fight you. I extend to you the hand of aid, to help you escape from your.. mistress. After all, that is what you wish to do, is it not?" The dreadlord kept his silence, not easing his battle posture, but Arthas still did not make any move to attack.

"Why should I trust you, human?"

Arthas laughed. "Human? My humanity's long gone, dreadlord. I'm no more human than you are now. Let's just say that while you and I have had our differences in the past, the Lich King has chosen you to serve him. Ironic though that may be, it is the will of my Master, and I will respect his choice. Should you accept his offer, you will take your place by his side, as one of his few chosen ones, and he will grant you new powers, powers like you have never imagined. Should you reject... well." The sentence was left hanging there, but both knew the inevitable would happen to the dreadlord. Still, Balnazzar hesitated.

"Ah. I see that you are.. undecided, as of yet. My offer remains, but I will withdraw for now, lest I risk detection by Sylvanas' forces.. or shall I say, the Forsaken." Arthas turned, and nudged at his mount with his heels. The skeletal horse had moved only a few steps before Balnazzar called out. Arthas stopped, but did not face the dreadlord.

"I will join you, and pledge allegiance to the Lich King. However, I ask one thing in exchange." Arthas paused, then half turned to look at the demon behind him.

"Sylvanas will be mine." The winged monstrosity was smiling, a sadistic, evil smile. Arthas laughed yet again.

"Done."

--

A/N: Wow, this is a totally new perspective. Usually the good guys are the ones who need to gather forces from across the land and the bad guys are the ones who are totally ready and invincible, but this time it's the other way round. I didn't even expect it to turn out this way when I had this fic in mind. LoL.

Truth be told, I totally have no idea who's going to win this. The Sentinel, or the Scourge? I'm still kind of undecided, but then again, the game hasn't even started yet, and who can predict the outcome of a DotA match while you're in the waiting room? Watch out for next chapter!


	3. Covenant

**Apocalypse**

**Chapter Two: Covenant**

In the great mountains of Northrend, an eerie green nimbus began to glow, surrounding a pair of bodies. As the shapes coalesced and took form, one took the shape of a tall, winged monstrosity, while the other transformed into a rider on a large warhorse. The green light faded into a soft azure glow that suffused the pair from within, before fading entirely, leaving the two standing in all their unholy glory.

Balnazzar slowly turned his head this way and that, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously. Around him, undead toiled relentlessly, tirelessly at the preparations for war. Amongst them, he could see the occasional nerubian; that was surprising, as he had heard from the late archdemon Archimonde that the nerubians no longer accepted and bowed their heads to the Lich King, master of the undead. Arthas glanced at the Nathrezim, a smile curving his lips.

"Fearing for your life, dreadlord?" The question was sarcastic, a dark humour playing around the words. The demon snorted and shrugged, trying to cover his nervous demeanour with a brave front.

"Hardly. Lower undead of these caliber could hardly even wound me. Just cautious, that is all. Lead the way." Arthas laughed; he wasn't fooled, and the demon knew it.

"As you wish, my dear Balnazzar..." Relieving his mount's reins to a nearby necromancer, he turned and walked into the icy mountain which housed his Lord's Throne. Balnazzar hesitated, but followed in the end.

--

Throughout the long and arduous climb to the top, no words were exchanged between the two. Balnazzar took each step cautiously, wary of any trap that Arthas might spring, but none came. Arthas was too preoccupied with his thoughts - no doubt coming from his master - to notice this, or he would surely have found it amusing. At length, the two arrived at the peak of the spiral, where three other forms awaited them.

One of the three was a lump of cloth on the floor; both Arthas and Balnazzar found this puzzling. There was definitely a body underneath it, but it was wholly hidden by the weave and none of it could be seen. The next was one that Balnazzar did not recognize, but had heard of. The Lord of the Nerubians stood tall and proud, facing them. Seeing the Death Knight, it bowed in greeting and homage. The last was one which the dreadlord recognized, and disliked intensely.

"...Kel'Thuzad." The words were a hiss coming from the dreadlord's mouth. Regarding the lich in loathing, the dreadlord felt deep animosity against the floating skeleton.

"Greetings, Balnazzar. I see you are already... acquainted with me." No expression could be seen on the lich's face, but the demon could clearly hear the amusement dripping from the creature's tone. Snarling, Balnazzar turned his attention away from the lowly creature, towards Arthas. The demon demanded angrily of the death knight, "Why is this servant of yours in here?" Arthas turned towards him slowly.

"You would do well to learn respect for your comrades, dreadlord. As things stand, his power far exceeds your own." Although Arthas' face betrayed no signs of hostility, the emotion was vividly portrayed in his words. Glowering, Balnazzar opened his mouth once again to speak, but another voice forced itself on their minds.

_Enough!_ The Lich King's thoughts pushed themselves forcefully into the dreadlord's. Subdued and shocked, Balnazzar turned his face to the Frozen Throne. For a moment, he was stunned by the radiance of the huge icicle; its power was so overwhelming, he was forced to wonder why he had not noticed it before. _I called you here not for this incessant bickering. Now stop this at once!_

_Balnazzar._ It was a command. There was no refusing that tone. The demon gritted his teeth and said, "I am here, Lich King."

_You have come here knowingly, willingly, to aid our fight against the Sentinel. You have come here, to bow to me and acknowledge me as master. And I am pleased with your decision._ A pause. Balnazzar said nothing, refusing to commit himself to anything. The Lich King carried on. _I see there are still doubts in your mind. It matters not. For you will serve our cause, and serve it well. For you will be unable to resist the power that I alone can give you..._

The Frozen Throne began to emanate a dark, black aura, which quickly began to expand and spread. It passed by Arthas, Kel'Thuzad and the Nerubian Lord without effect, but where it touched the dreadlord's skin, it adhered itself to him. Roaring in rage, Balnazzar began to writhe and thrash in an effort to remove the dark aura, but nothing availed him. He had been tricked! There was no pain, but a burning sensation began to spread across his body. He was being consumed by a raging inferno from within-

-and just as suddenly, the flames ceased. Balnazzar stopped thrashing, panting heavily on the floor of the icy mountain. Stumbling to his feet, dizzy from his efforts and the unusual sensation, Balnazzar glared in outrage at the Lich King's champion. When he spoke, his words trembled with anger and were tinged with a trace of fear.

"What is the meaning of this? You promised me-"

"Be at ease, dreadlord. The Lich King does not go back on his promises, and neither do I. Arise, Balnazzar. Do you not feel the power coursing through your veins, running in your blood?" Arthas cut his words short with words of his own. Balnazzar opened his mouth again to speak angrily, but the words died on his lips as he began to feel the power Arthas spoke of. It burned in him like the dark aura of the Lich King, but the feeling was not that of a hungry fire, but that of an empowering volcano. He rose to his feet, so silently that it startled himself. Within the deep recesses of his soul he could feel a waxing of power, skills of stealth and fear, powers to debilitate, to cripple, to instill terror into his opponents. It was power he had never felt before, not even when Archimonde had endowed him with the powers of the Nathrezim.

_You will serve me well, dreadlord. But that paltry title is no longer worthy of one such as you. You shall bring horror to the battlefield, terror to the forces of the Sentinel, and the night shall be your calling. You will go forth in my name, and tear our foes limb from limb. From this moment on, you shall be known as Balnazzar, the __**Night Stalker**__!_

And the Night Stalker began to laugh, a deep, unearthly sound that echoed from the mountain to the base, and shook even the cores of the chill undead with its sound.

--

Balnazzar had left the throne room, no doubt to test the limits of his newfound strength. Arthas waited until the former dreadlord was gone, then turned his attention to his master once again.

"Is this wise, Master? With the powers you gave him, you have elevated him to the same power as Kel'Thuzad. Balnazzar might well decide to rebel against him."

Kel'Thuzad spoke up. "Do not worry, my liege. I am more than a match for him now."

_Do not worry, Arthas. In time, he will become as loyal to me as are any of you. His hunger of power will make him fearful of losing it, and he would not risk both my wrath and his powers in such a futile attempt. Now, Arthas, I have one last task for you, and then the gathering shall be complete._

"Does it have anything to do with the body here, my Lord?"

_You are perceptive, Arthas... Here lies our fifth hero. With him, our invasion can finally be launched. Anub'arak... remove the cloth._

Arthas watched as the great insect bowed its head to the Frozen Throne, then slowly and carefully began to lift the brown cloth. Arthas had been prepared for a being of great power, but was definitely not prepared for the sight that met his eyes.

"My Lord! Are you certain of this?"

_Do not doubt me, Arthas. He will be a boon addition to our forces, Raise him, and he will give the Sentinel reason to falter before us, for they will not be able to harm him._

"Master, I... shall try."

_Be sure of your own abilities, Arthas. I am behind you. You will not fail, this I assure you. Now, raise him!_

The knight of death unsheathed Frostmourne, and stood in front of the enormous carcass hesitantly. Raising the blade, he began to utter words under his breath, words of necromancy and power, tones of death and undeath. The body before him began to glow with the same eerie green light. Beads of sweat began to form on Arthas' forehead, for the spirit of the body was strong and was defying every effort he made. He was beginning to think the task impossible when he felt the Lich King add its power to his own, and the task was suddenly a lot easier. The soul writhed and struggled, but was no match for the combined will of the lord of the undead and its champion. The green glow intensified, becoming so bright both Kel'Thuzad and Anub'arak were forced to look away. When they looked back, the corpse was gone.

Arthas stepped back, the task finally done. Before him now stood a tall towering figure, but there was no real substance to it. Ethereal hooves pawed at the floor, while an insubstantial mane was thrown about angrily in the air. The magical soul threw its head back and gave a huge cry to the heavens, but the sound was hollow-sounding and unreal. The soul, obviously in torment and agony, ceased its cries and turned its head back to Arthas. Involuntarily, he raised his blade, prepared to defend himself, but the spirit went down on its front knees and bowed its obedience. Arthas sheathed Frostmourne, a malicious smile on his face.

"Welcome... _Cenarius_."

--

A/N: Wow it's been nearly a year since I started this fanfiction! It's not that I've forgotten about it or anything, it's just that I've been coming across huge problems of writer's block and I totally did not know how to continue this story. I had the battle scenes and characters and general plots all floating around for a while now but I just did not know how to connect the pieces to form an actual chapter. I'll try and update more often, but since no one reads this fanfiction anyway I'm not expecting a lot of reviews, so I can actually do replies on this. Here goes.

**GuardianCrystal**: Yeah I glossed over a lot, because this story is sort of a sequel to the actual campaign mode. None of this is going to make any sense if you haven't played the campaign mode anyway. A lot is going to be explained there, so go play it again to refresh your memory.

**Rain the Revenant**: Erm. Was that the DotA song by BassHunter? Actually a lot of DotA fics have been made; I'm the only one so far to have made it into an actual story though. The other ones were just random occurances in DotA games and some were actually quite meaningless. Keep reading!

That's all for now. Will try to update some more, so read and review, all right? Just don't flame me and everything will be fine. Ciao!


	4. Mustering of the Light

**Apocalypse**

**Chapter Three: Mustering of the Light**

The trees of the forest rustled disturbingly. The night elf glanced up, distracted from his meditation. He rose gracefully to his feet, wondering at the sudden change in the spirits of nature that had been his companions.

The night elf was a strange one for the long-lived race. He wore a smock of plain, brown homespun, and in his hand was held a staff that easily rivaled the height of its wielder, who was already tall as compared to the others of his kind. His mount was no night saber, as did most other night elves ride, neither was it a horse, belonging to the short-tempered humans. Instead, a large goat awaited him, its fur a mass of shaggy white hanging from its body. But what belonged to the male elf that made him truly stand out rested upon his forehead.

Protruding from his head were two large black antlers, sleeking backwards. This was a mark of the pupil of Cenarius, demigod of the elves… until he had been slain by the orcs. The first druid ever to step into existence, Malfurion had studied directly under Cenarius, and had adopted much of his ways, not to mention his looks. The antlers that rode upon his forehead were proof of that.

Malfurion concentrated, asking the spirits what had disturbed them so. The answer he got only served to frustrate him more. They sensed something, something evil, that had returned to the land of the living from beyond. But why should that have disturbed them so? With the rise of the Scourge, such occurrences happened several times each day. But the spirits could not say. All Malfurion could sense was their unease.

So deep in concentration was he that when a hand laid itself gently on his shoulder, he literally jumped in shock and surprise. Whirling around, he saw a woman clad in the scanty armour of the night elves, purple and scarcely adorned. Her body was slim, but obviously lithe and agile, if her muscles and well-toned body were any proof of that. On her back was slung a bow, her weapon of choice and proficiency, though a short sword rode in a scabbard at the side of her perfectly curved hips. The face was stern and disciplined, but a faint smile hovered around her full lips and a spark of amusement was apparent in her eyes. Malfurion could not help but stare helplessly at the woman he loved.

"You have grown careless, my love," rebuked Tyrande. The High Priestess was strict and correct as always, but the smile grew wider and the amusement danced in her eyes. Malfurion angled his head to look at the forest surrounding the pair.

"The spirits have grown restless, Tyrande. Something bothers them, something which I do not understand and they will not explain. No… They cannot. What is it, Tyrande? What is it that has caused such unrest amongst the forest spirits?" Malfurion's musings had an undercurrent of worry to them. Tyrande sensed this, but she could not do anything to help him, for she had not the skill to commune with nature as her childhood companion had. Instead, she was sworn to the Mother Moon, Elune the Moon Goddess. What Malfurion had said, Tyrande could only comprehend little. Glancing at the trees, Tyrande could only see the leaves rustling all around her.

"Perhaps they share your anxiety at the upcoming battle. There has been enough reason for the forests to fear the coming of the Scourge, for word is that the land the Scourge treads upon dies with each step the undead take," Tyrande offered. Malfurion looked doubtful still, but turned his head back to the woman in front of him.

"You may be right, although something… still remains amiss here. Were I given more time, I could perhaps persuade the spirits to tell me what it is that has disturbed them so. But such is not the case. Tyrande, my heart, how goes the preparations for battle?"

"Yggdrassil seems to have exhausted much of her powers in confining the Lich King. It is unlikely that she would be able to lend us much more of her strength in the upcoming war, but still the humans would like you to have a look at her, to see if anything can be done," Tyrande's lips pursed together as she said the last words. She still did not approve of the humans, although she was forced to admit that to defeat the Scourge would require the aid of both orcs and humans.

"I shall come at once." Turning, Malfurion strode to his mount and heaved himself up onto its back. Tyrande did likewise, her mount being a white tiger with black stripes. It was her pride and joy, her companion since many, many years ago. They were more friends than rider and mount. Urging the tiger on with her knees, Tyrande moved forward into the forests in the direction of their camp. Malfurion took a moment to look once more at the trees around him, before doing the same.

--

Tyrande dismounted at the gates of a wooden fence, erected only recently, with Malfurion behind her. The sentries at the gates – one human and one night elf – let them pass unchallenged, for theirs were faces well known at the campsite. The elven sentry greeted the pair warmly, while the human simply gave them an uncomfortable look and a reluctant "Good day." Tyrande paid no heed, while Malfurion returned the greeting, equally hesitant.

The camp was full of soldiers, of all three of the main races of Azeroth. Human foot soldiers played together at games of dice and chance, elven fighters spent their time either conversing quietly or grooming their mounts, while orc warriors practiced their own skills in sparring matches against each other. All had come, to avenge either a fallen family member or friend, to protect a lover or a child, to defend their homes and their futures. All were there to battle the Scourge.

Tyrande and Malfurion made their way towards the heart of their camp, where a massive, ancient tree stood. At the base of the tree already stood another pair of figures, both of which turned to the sound of the pair approaching.

One of them was a human. His golden hair fell to his shoulders, and his facial features were aristocratic and left no doubt that he was of noble birth. His body was well-defined, with muscles rippling across his arms. He wore the ornate armor of the Holy Order, and it chinked solidly as he moved. He was tall for a human, coming up close to Tyrande's height. In his hand he carried an enormous war-hammer, the chosen weapon of all Paladins. The weapon was heavy, but he wielded it with ease.

The second figure of the pair was an orc. Tyrande could never get used to this… man. Was it the fangs that jutted out from his lower jaw that disturbed her so much, or the fact that his skin was a deep green that was part of the orc race? Tyrande didn't know. The orc had raven-black hair that reached past his shoulders, and sat astride a huge white wolf. The elf didn't even know that wolves grew to that size. He, too, carried a hammer, but this one was much smaller in comparison to the human's war-hammer. Tyrande eyed the two of them even as they moved forward to greet them.

"Tyrande, Malfurion. Well met." Thrall, war chief of the Orcish Horde raised his hand in greeting. Malfurion returned the gesture, and then took the hand of Arlen, leader of the humans. This was a human gesture, one which the night elf was still unused to. When the two let go of each other, Malfurion had to resist the urge to wipe his hand on his smock.

Arlen spoke first. "Lord Malfurion, is there anything you can do for the World Tree? She has been a great ally in our cause, and she can yet do much good for us in the upcoming battle. It is vital that she aid us, for it will truly be the final clash, and it will undoubtedly prove titanic. Any help she can give us might be the keystone to winning any such battle. Lord Thrall and I have done our best, but neither the Light nor the elemental spirits have been able to help her. As a druid of the forest, you might have more luck that us."

Malfurion winced at the title that the human had given him. He was no lord, just a humble druid of the forest. He had once attempted to dissuade the human paladin from doing so, but the legendary stubbornness of the Holy Order was not to be convinced. After a lengthy argument, Malfurion had given up trying to persuade Arlen, but was still uncomfortable with the title. Nevertheless, he tolerated it; their uneasy alliance was shaky enough as it was, without any further unnecessary arguments between them.

"I can promise nothing. But I shall try," Malfurion replied. Walking up to the Yggdrassil, he glanced up at its towering height once, and then set his palm flat onto its trunk. Closing his eyes, he attempted to commune with the World Tree as he would with any other aspect of nature, but before he could make any serious attempts, the World Tree herself spoke to all of them.

_Do not bother, dear Malfurion. There is nothing you, or any of your compatriots can do for my weakened state. I will recover, slowly, but I fear not in time for the upcoming battle. The Scourge have already readied their forces, and their vile undead are led by five dark forces, each one just as strong as any of you here. Should we attempt to attack now, we would fail, but we do not have time to wait for my powers to recover. They do not expect us to attack them so readily, so attack them we shall, and utilize the aspect of surprise as much as we can._

"Is that wise?" Thrall objected, "You just declared that we had no chance of victory, if we attempt to attack them now. If we led our forces on suicide missions, then with every soldier we lose the Scourge gains another. We might just be speeding our way to defeat."

_Do not worry. Another approaches, one who can aid you to your path to victory._

"Another? Who-"

Thrall's voice was cut off by a rising commotion at the central gates. The four champions turned to the sound.

_She has come. Doubt her not, and bring her to me._

Malfurion exchanged glances with the other three, then begin walking off in the direction of the gates. Tyrande followed without hesitation, and after a while Arlen and Thrall trailed behind.

--

Full night had settled, and the only light in the area was the light shining from Elune the moon goddess, illuminating both Raxen and Aliar. The two were on guard duty, and no banter was exchanged between the two. Some might interpret that as constant vigilance on their part, but the truth was that there was no love lost between the two soldiers. After all, Raxen was an elf, and Aliar was just another human. Come the next day, Raxen would have forgotten which one of them Aliar was; all of these short-lived humans looked the same anyway.

Their shift had started not long into the night when Aliar obviously was beginning to grow restless, shifting his gaze about and kicking at the dirt beneath his boots. Raxen snorted in contempt. Humans! He could not understand how their attention span could be so short; he supposed it had to do with the fact that they led such short lives. Attention span must be proportionate to life span, he supposed.

Just as Raxen was about to open his mouth to tell his fellow guardsman to keep quiet and let him listen, a noise in the forest off to his left caught his attention. A faint brushing of the undergrowth, a footstep on grass… Glancing over at his supposed comrade, Aliar had apparently not noticed anything – he was yawning, for goodness' sake! Raxen shook his head in disbelief. Humans kept making fun of elven ears, but they themselves had all the hearing of a drunk. Raising a hand, Raxen irritably told the human to "Hush!"

Bristling, Aliar opened his mouth to retort, but the sound in the forest grew louder and more unmistakable, such that even the human and his less-than-perfect hearing could not miss it. Both soldiers grew quiet, and watched the forest intently.

The rustling of leaves and bushes grew ever more apparent, and it was obvious that whoever it was in the forest was moving _towards_ the camp. As quietly as he could, Raxen drew an arrow and set it to his bow; to his right, he could hear the cold slide of metal as Aliar unsheathed his blade. The two continued to watch. As the movements grew in intensity and proximity, Raxen began to nock his bow. He took aim-

-and out of the forest burst a robed form, one which stood as tall as Raxen himself. He could see nothing much of the stranger, but the pointed ears of the elven race was apparent on the figure's shadow. His first thought was that of a new recruit, but he did not lower his bow. He began to shout a warning, but to his right Aliar let out a sudden cry of anger and bloodlust, leveling a charge right at the figure. Raxen jumped in shock, and his hand let go of the arrow for that one instant, sending the projectile winging towards its target. Cursing, Raxen could do nothing but watch and pray to Elune that the arrow would not prove fatal to the intruder.

Unfortunately, Raxen's aim was as good as the next Night Elf soldier, which is to say excellent. The arrow flew straight and true, ending in a meaty _thunk_ into the stranger's left breast. The figure flew back with the impact, and the robes parted to reveal a woman's figure. Raxen began to run forward, but was stopped cold by what Aliar had seen, but he had not until now.

The woman's skin was a pale, sickly hue of blue.

_The woman was an undead._

The intruder righted herself, the arrow seemingly doing little to no damage to her, and took out a bow of her own. Even under attack, her features remained cold and unemotional, as she began to reach backwards for an arrow. Raxen roared, reaching for his own arrow in the quiver behind him, knowing that regardless of how quickly she drew hers, she would not be in time to stop Aliar's charge. He was therefore shocked to see her arrow in her bow by the time his fingers had found the feathered shaft of his own. A split second later and Aliar was down, clutching at his leg in pain. It took only the space of a heartbeat to find himself drawn into a fetal position as well, arms around his left leg in agony. Raxen drew breath to cry out, but it came out as a hoarse whisper. He brought his gaze back up at the attacker, but lost consciousness before seeing anything else.

--

Arlen and the others reached the gates of the Sentinel campsite in time to see over five of his elven with their blades drawn standing in it. Thinking of the Yggdrassil's words, he commanded the men to stand down.

"Milord! The undead are attacking! We must retaliate!"

"_What?_ Is this true? Let us pass!" Arlen pushed his way through his men to the gate, where four more were standing in a semi-circle around a robed woman. She had a bow ready in one hand, but was making no move to attack anyone within her range. Two soldiers were on the floor, unmoving, but none of their wounds appeared to be fatal. The woman spoke.

"Are you the leader of these humans? I have heard that the druid, Malfurion Stormrage is here. I would speak with him." There was a chilling quality to her voice, one that Arlen was all too familiar with. This was indeed an undead, and could only possibly be speaking with the voice of the dread Lord of the Undead. Arlen fell into a combat stance, his warhammer out by the side and to the ready.

"I know not what your Lord wishes to convey to us, abomination, and I care not. I shall end your suffering right here!" The paladin made ready to charge, when a female voice cried out behind him.

"Wait!"Tyrande strode forward wearing an incredulous look on her face.

"_Sylvanas?"_

--

A/N: Okay, after over two years of not caring about this story, I've decided to return just to pick it up again. Truth be told, what has been putting me off this is the beginning and introduction of the teams. I have all the battle scenes and endings taking place again and again in my mind, and I wish I could just skip to it but I DO need some decent back-story first. If I ever get past the introductions, everything else will be smooth sailing, so let's all cross of fingers, shall we?

Oh, and after a couple of years of not writing, my abilities as a writer has obviously gone down the drain, and saying "changed" doesn't even cut it. So if there's ANY suggestion ANYONE can give me, seriously any at all, I would be deeply appreciative of it. After all, help me help you. Thanks!


	5. Storm's Coming

**Apocalypse**

**Chapter Four: Storm's Coming**

Around the gargantuan roots of the World Tree, a heated discussion was taking place. The leaders of the races of Azeroth were engaged in a furious argument, while the newcomer that was the subject of their spat stood off to one side, in obvious earshot but ignoring every word said about her. Instead, Sylvanas focused her gaze on the World Tree, looking at it expectantly.

"This is madness! Not just my people, but the night elves and the orcs have suffered much as well under the hands of the vile undead! And now you propose to bring this… _abomination_ into our fold? I will never agree to it!" Arlen said heatedly. He made no effort to lower his voice, knowing full well that the undead woman would hear every word he uttered.

"Perhaps, but she has made no attack on us yet." Tyrande attempted to defend her once-elven sister.

"Made no attack on us? Need I remind you she has incapacitated not only one of my soldiers, but one of yours as well?"

Malfurion cut in. "Exactly. She has _incapacitated_ them, not killed them outright. Her marksmanship is obviously outstanding, Arlen. She could have killed both of them easily. That she has not shows that she harbors no ill intent towards us and ours. Besides, if she did wish to attack us, coming alone would be suicide!"

"Precisely! Why would an _undead_ risk their unnatural lives, foul they may be, and wander into the midst of our armed soldiers? I say that this is a prelude to an attack! While she keeps us busy and distracted with her lies, her undead cohorts will storm our base! We should take mercy on her, and end her miserable existence right now, then prepare ourselves for a battle!" Arlen's words grew ever louder as his speech grew more impassioned and righteous. He was even reaching for his warhammer as he spoke, readying himself for a fight.

"You underestimate me, human."

The chilling, unexpected voice behind the paladin made all of them jump. With a startled oath, Arlen whirled around, his weapon at the ready, to face Sylvanas.

"Are all humans like that? I suppose it must be a racial trait of sorts. I wonder how you ever live with them… _sister_." The use of the title was done on purpose. Tyrande flinched to hear it; even though she had been defending her till now, to claim kinship with this… _thing_ was too much to imagine. The little motion was not missed by the undead. Smirking, Sylvanas carried on.

"I have told you, little paladin. I have my own reasons for joining your little band. I do not believe your cause will triumph, but it matters not to me. As long as I accomplish my goals, I will lend you my aid. Be grateful for this… human." Arlen's eyes narrowed at the implied insult.

"We do not need your aid, dark one. I should end your suffering right here and now."

At this, Sylvanas laughed, an otherworldly sound that was unlike anything the Sentinel leaders had heard before. "Oh, if only you could, human. But as I said, I have my goals to accomplish. I will not rest in peace before I do so. You are, of course, welcome to _try_. But you are sorely underestimating me if you think you are more than a match for me." Removing the bow from where it hung on her back, Sylvanas gripped it at the ready, inviting the paladin to make the first move. And he would have, if the World Tree had not intervened.

_Enough of this!_

At the imperial tone in that command, Arlen stopped himself in mid-swing. Every one of them, even the undead Sylvanas, turned their heads towards the gigantic tree.

_There will be no violence here, not in the base camp of the Sentinels! Sylvanas, Arlen, cease this at once!_

Grudgingly, Arlen lowered his warhammer. Sylvanas held her bow out a while longer, then lowered it as well.

"Why, Yggdrassil? Why would you ask this traitor of all that is living to join us?" Arlen protested. At this, Sylvanas unexpectedly flared up.

"_Traitor_? You _dare_ brand me a traitor? I was the one who was betrayed! Speak not to me of betrayal, human, or I'll bring you down where you stand!" Emotions running high, the fight looked like it was about to break out once again, when the World Tree said her piece once more.

_I said, __**enough**__!_

This time, the mental command bordered on a shout. The impact of the telepathic message was so large that the would-be combatants dropped their weapons to their sides immediately.

_Whether any of you like it or not, we need her power in order to succeed. She is right; our chances of triumph are slim, and we require all the help we can acquire. She is from the enemy's camp herself; she alone will provide valuable insight on the enemies' strengths and weaknesses._

Predictably, Arlen was the one who brought up yet another protest. "How are you sure we can trust her? For all we know, she's here gathering intelligence on us and our troops, to report back to her undead lord and master!"

_She has no lord or master, Arlen. She has her own motives for coming here. Just as we need her, she needs us as well, for alone she has no hope of carrying out her plans. Isn't that right, Sylvanas?_ Glaring, Sylvanas kept silent, refusing to answer the question. Arlen looked like he was about to flare up again at her silence, thus Thrall hurriedly interrupted.

"I do not know you, stranger. But if Yggdrassil is willing to cast her vote with you, I will accept you, for it is true that victory is far and out of reach now. If you are willing to aid us against the Scourge on the battlefield, then I shall place my faith in you as well."

"Regardless of what you are now, noble elven blood still ran once in your veins. You cannot have forgotten all the integrity and honor of the Elven race. I choose to trust you as well." This from Tyrande, and beside her Malfurion nodded his agreement. Bereft of any allies to support him in the argument, Arlen cast an angry gaze about helplessly, then let the head of his warhammer sink to the ground.

"Fine! I will accept this foul being into our camp for now. But be warned, dark one! If I detect any signs of betrayal from you, my hammer's justice shall be swift!" Sylvanas smiled.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

--

Felwood was once a land of primal power, a pure and simple place where the strong lived and the weak perished. As such, the land developed into one with creatures who adapted swiftly to environmental changes, with strength and power to match. The tauren, harpies and centaurs were fierce warriors in their own right, and while the occasional tribal war broke out amongst the races, they had nothing but respect for each other's combat prowess. Game was plentiful, and amidst the barren, brown soil of the Felwood was the occasional oasis that gave the life-sustaining water to the land.

Now, all of that was gone. Since the advance party of the Scourge first reached the land of Felwood, nothing could halt their advance. The centaurs had fallen first, and subsequent conquests had grown ever easier as the undead ranks grew with every living being slain. Everywhere the undead army touched, the land began to decay, until not a single living organism existed in the land. Even the earth was twisted beyond recognition, as an unholy blight settled across the land and transformed it from its rich, dark brown to the deep black of despair.

On the fifth day of the Scourge's arrival, Arthas and his army had established a base camp at the foot of Mount Hyjal, where the World Tree stood. Thus far, encounters with troops from this so-called Sentinel had been few and in between, and in each case they had not been able to capture any of them. The one patrol they had cornered had set fire to their own bodies, and not even the arcane might of the Death Knight could raise the bodies of charred, incomplete skeletons and still have them function.

As such, Arthas knew _nothing_ about what to expect.

This infuriated him. The tribes of Felwood had been easy to defeat, not only because of the swelling bulk of his army, but also because of the information he had gathered from the raised bodies from the battlefield. This time, information about the Sentinel base and their troops was precious little. What scouting parties the knight sent out never returned, while Shade reports were cut off in the middle of the telepathic transmission. Arthas could only assume that one – or more – of their opponents had True Seeing, but that was all he could surmise from the Shades' reports.

It was with this piece of news that Arthas greeted his generals with at a meeting on the night of the fifth day since their arrival. Gathered around a map of Kalimdor, Arthas called the meeting to a start.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Firstly, I must congratulate all of you on your recent victories over the tribes of Felwood. The slaughter has provided our troops with vast reinforcements, and we will need them to overrun the Sentinel base. However, many of the bodies were… maimed beyond repair, and could not be raised. I hope _all_ of you will take note of this in the future…" Arthas' gaze came to rest on a winged demon opposite him. Balnazzar only laughed and spread his hands in a gesture of denial.

"Surely you do not accuse _me_, Arthas?"

Arthas snorted. "No matter. I have not called on you all today to discuss battlefield etiquette. As all of you are aware, we begin the final march onto Mount Hyjal tomorrow. In order to triumph over these _Sentinels_, I require all of you to listen to me now.

"We are currently here, at the base of Mount Hyjal itself." Removing a gauntlet, Arthas thrust his finger onto the map indicating their position. "Now, there are three routes where we might take to reach the Sentinel base. One heading towards the east, then north; another towards the north, then the east; finally, one towards the north-east, a direct and straightforward approach." Arthas quickly traced the paths towards the Sentinel base in order.

Balnazzar spoke up. "Why waste time on the other two, then? It seems clear to me that the shortest way to victory is via the middle route. Let us go that way, and storm the base down with our overwhelming power!"

Beside him, the lich Kel' Thuzad added his opinion to the table. "Rash though it may be, that may be the key to our victory, my liege. The World Tree grows ever stronger by the day; surely the power it has expended to return our master to His prison has been all but restored to it. If we delay, we might lose our chance of triumph."

Arthas shook his head. "No, lich. It would require a lot of time for that blasted plant to regain its powers. Time is on our side, now. If we were to take such a direct approach, we would fall easily into any number of tactics and traps they might have prepared beforehand. Being the quickest route to the base, they will be sure to defend that road strongest."

This time, it was a large, overgrown insect that spoke. "Then which one should we take, Death Knight? The northern and eastern paths are about the same. It makes no difference which road we lead our army through," said Anub'arak.

"We will not take just one road, Anub'arak.

"We will take all three."

--

_They come!_

At the base of World Tree, the five leaders of the Sentinel glanced at it in response to the mental transmission it had sent to them. For a moment, they stood stock still.

"Finally…" Thrall tightened his grip on his hammer.

"Does everyone remember their battle plans?" Arlen asked tersely. He was systematically tightening and loosening his grip on his own warhammer, a habit of his when he was facing an imminent battle. Around him, heads nodded their agreement. Anxiety could be sensed throughout the camp, and every soldier knew that perhaps they would not be returning alive that day. Only Sylvanas remained impassive and silent.

"Well then. Good luck, all of you." Malfurion said to the group, as the three wooden gates shuddered open with the creaks of rope against worn wood. "May we all see through this alive." Arlen hesitated for a moment, then walked to the centre of the camp, where all could see him with little difficulty.

"Humans, orcs and elves! I am Arlen, leader of the human survivors of Azeroth. Listen to my words!" As Arlen began his speech, the other four in the group retreated to the shadows of the World Tree.

_Will you not spur your people on?_ The World Tree's tone was amused, as it asked its question.

Malfurion smiled. "We figured that he needed to let off a little aggression before the battle. Besides, none of us have ever felt the need for such… theatrics. Arlen seemed like the best man for this job."

"Brothers and sisters, this war is finally coming to an end. Here and now, we will crush the Scourge! For the loved ones we have lost in this long, bloody war, and for the loved ones that we have now around us, I swear to you, _we will triumph!_" As his speech came to a close, Arlen lifted his warhammer aloft. Calling upon the Light to bless him, a shower of golden light poured down from the heavens, surrounding the paladin.

The army burst into cheers. Orcs, elves and humans alike waved their weapons in the air and roared their determination as one. When the disarray had settled, Arlen made his way back towards the group.

"Nice speech," Sylvanas smirked. Arlen flushed, but wisely kept his mouth shut to prevent yet another fight from breaking out. It was enough trouble keeping the men from assaulting the undead woman; it would not do for them to see their commanding officer attacking her. Ignoring her veiled insult, he turned to his other allies.

"Well. Here we part, then. May the Light be with you, all of you."

Thrall lifted his hammer in the customary manner. "And may the spirits guide you all, as well."

The group stood looking at each other for a while more, then separated and made their way towards their own designated gates.

--

A/N: Okay finally another chapter done and ready. This has felt like it's been DRAGGED out of me, literally. I tried very hard to bring about this chapter, and I think it'll only be yet more uphill battles before I reach the hero-on-hero duels I had in mind that I started this fanfiction with!

That said, you'll notice some changes in the story, namely the positioning of the two base camps. I switched the places of the Sentinel and Scourge camps around, mainly because of the geographic positioning of the two places. If you actually went to look it up, Mount Hyjal opens only to Winterspring on the southeast and Felwood on the west, so I chose Felwood over Winterspring due to the reference in the Warcraft III campaign.

Also, in case you're wondering, no, they did not move the Frozen Throne into Felwood. I don't think that's even possible. If they could, the Lich King wouldn't need to escape from his prison, would he? The Frozen Throne will still be in the picture, but you'll have to wait for me to get there in the story to find out, won't you?

Well, that's another chapter put away. Enjoy the read, and once again I hope you can give me any kind of constructive feedback at all. See you next chapter!


End file.
